THE LICENSED VICTUALLERS' DINNER.
The dinner of the Licensed Victuallers is better to them than the wisdom of Solomon, or the ore of lore: it is their feast of literature, for they consider it in the light of a splendid annual—magnificently bound in calf for society—with the cloth edition especially reserved for themselves. It is a pleasure to behold their spread, the chairman soaring into Epicurean sublimity, like the spread eagle, or feasting like the golden vulture upon quid vult. See, they have gathered in the strength of their conviviality. Every one of them is a landlord, if not a lord of the land; how they labour at their vocation of cram! Their festive board has become a board of works; and they are all busy about the pleasantest half of the trade of carver and gilder. Every man, like a tailor, is taking his full measure; their whole vision is given to the pro-vision; and they are now, more than doctors and lawyers, among the feed. Pollok's "Course of Time" is nothing to the course of victuals now produced. All the creatures that figure on their sign-boards have been brought up and dressed for the nonce. Rarities are here, which it must have required a new edition of "Cook's Voyages" to procure. The Goose with the Gridiron, the Magpie without the Stump, the Swan with two Necks, and the throttle of some youthful Boniface acting Lad-lane for the luxury: a joint from the Pig in the Pound; the Blue Boar done thoroughly brown; the meek Lamb sent saucey from the Mint; the Dolphin, by off-slicing process, changing its size and not its dyes; the "Cock" with exquisite stuffing, so that it emulates a firm of city silversmiths, and becomes "Cock Savoury;" the Hen and Chickens, quite a gentle brood, roasted for food; "the Salmon," accustomed to swim, now beginning in consequence to sink; and last, not least, the Peacock assisting at the spread! Sure here is food for reflection, and the great body of Licensed Victuallers may rejoice in the victuals thereof.
Dinner is now over. The "Queen" is disposed of; the "Royal Family" are settled; the "Army and Navy" are dispatched. Although it is not an ordinary, they have gone through the ordinary toasts: the business of the evening is about to be commenced; the Chairman is on his mettle, and on his legs. He is a wit and a wittler; a patriot on the side of the public-houses and the public. Bodily, as well as oratorically, he is a great speaker, and his eloquence is now let loose. He informs the company before him of the great importance of the humane and intoxicating society to which he belongs. He tells them that the Licensed Victuallers are connected with all that is elevating (spirits for instance), civilizing, and admirable, in town and country. They are identified equally with the lush and the literature of the land; for he is prepared to contend that whatever has been great in literature is deducible from lush. Every author of eminence has been more or less inspired from the tap, the bin, the cellar, or the bar. The Edinburgh Castle has never been a Castle of Indolence; and taverns must be regarded as the fountains of the mind. Vehement cries of "bravo!" and "draw it mild!" here interrupt the speaker; but he declares he cannot draw it any milder, and that it would be stale, flat, and unprofitable if he did. He would prove his case. The poet who quaffs British brandy is filled with patriotic spirit, and writes nobly for native land. The wit confines himself to what is rum. The nautical novelist sticks to port. Gin inspires the great delineators of human life. What, for instance, but gin-twist could have brought Oliver Twist to light? He would repeat—that lush and literature were indissolubly connected, and that the press and the punch-bowl were one. Yes, the very press was nothing but a great punch-bowl. Its thunder, devilism, and vituperation, were the spirit; its bland praises were the sweets; its sarcastic truths and stings were the blended bitter and acid; its pleasant news was the aroma from the lemon-peel; its quarrels were the hot water; its sneers were the cold: it sometimes created a terrible stir; but then punch was nothing without that; and, finally, the newsmen were the glasses, and when all was done, the editors were the ladles—he said ladles emphatically, lest they should be taken for spoons—that doled it out to the eager-swallowing community. (Loud cries of "capital," and incessant cheering.) All these things incontestably proved that the kings of the lush were the kings of the literature of the land; and, therefore, the Licensed Victuallers were at the head of the civilization of the empire. It was said that "knowledge is power;" very well—then the public had to thank them and their brewers. They might talk of their cheap periodicals, but, he would ask, would there be any circulation of instruction in this kingdom if it was not for the respectable firm of Read and Co.? Another gentleman was a Whitbread—he might say, a wit-bred and born: but there was no end of illustration; and, if knowledge was power, it was a brewer's dray-horse power; it passed to the public through the cellars of the publicans, and all he could say was, if it came up "heavy," it went down light. "He should, therefore, give—Prosperity to the Licensed Victuallers' Institution."
The toast is drunk with applause—the Chairman shortly after follows its example, and by two in the morning the company have got under the table over their wine.
DID YOU EVER?
Did you ever know a sentinel who could tell what building he was keeping guard over?
Did you ever know a cabman, or a ticket-porter, with any change about him?
Did you ever know a tradesman asking for his account who had not "a bill to take up on Friday?"
Did you ever know an omnibus cad who would not engage to set you down within a few yards of any place within the bills of mortality?
Did you ever know a turnpike-man who could be roused in less than a quarter of an hour, when it wanted that much of midnight?